


Kiss me goodbye

by Hideaki



Series: System Update [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, Getting Together, Hank is bad at Feelings, M/M, Mutual Pining, Resolved Romantic Tension, pre-good ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 23:41:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15011954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hideaki/pseuds/Hideaki
Summary: Hank steals Connor a kiss, Connor does way more than that.«Hank's eyes go wide. Connor is standing under the rain in front of his house, his posture straight and composed as ever. Something about him looks different though.»





	Kiss me goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't really plan to write this fic but I've been wanting to write Hank and Connor's first kiss since I started playing the game so this sort of just happened (it's the first time I don't write something smutty so it sure was an experience). I hope you like it!

His eyes adapt easily to the low, blueish light coming from the tv screen. The noise from whatever program is on comes like a distant buzz to his ears, almost muffled. Hank looks at his left. Sumo is sleeping on the floor with his big head rested on his crossed paws, snoring lightly.

Hank looks at his right. He inhales sharply.

Connor is sitting right next to him. His figure straight and composed like no human would sit on a couch at 2 in the morning. His eyes are open, blankly casted toward the tv monitor and Hank finds it hard to tell if he’s awake or in standby. 

He was the one who told Connor he could spend the night at his place. They’d ended up working until late on the case but gave up brainstorming theories until Hank got too drunk to function properly.

Hank shifts, sitting up from his slouched position, and just that small movement confirms that, yes, he’s still pitifully drunk and feeling like shit about it. As he moves, he hits a beer bottle with his foot. It doesn’t fall down but it clatters against another empty bottle. Immediately, Hank’s attention flies back to Connor, still sitting next to him. He hasn't moved by an inch, hands still folded in his lap and eyes pointed straight ahead. Hank notices that Connor rests completely still, the part of his programming that simulates human breathing must be on rest mode as well. His head is lightly pressed against the headrest of the couch and Hank realises that this is probably the closest to sleeping that Connor can manage. The most peaceful version of him that Hank can witness. 

He looks calm, yet awake, and for a second Hank decides he wants to see what would happen if he just shoved at him, woke up him brusquely and unexpectedly. He stops himself with his arm hanging close to Connor’s shoulder. Hank sits up even straighter, scoots closer to Connor, closes his eyes and gathers all his will to ignore the unpleasant, alcohol induced, sensation in his stomach. When he opens them again he finds himself surprised by the vicinity of Connor as if it hadn’t been Hank himself to get so close to him. 

His eyes, on their own accord, drift to the pleasant curve of Connor’s lips and before Hank can mentally curse himself for it, they travel up Connor’s face, taking in the proud shape of his cheekbones, highlighted by the pale blue light of the tv, and the straight, pretty line of his nose. Then they travel back to the android’s lips.

Hank would be lying if he didn’t admit he’s thought about kissing Connor before. More than once.

He was drunk the first time he met Connor. He was mad at the simple concept of having to be paired up with an android to do his job, as if he needed babysitting. Then he had looked up from the bar counter and the first thought to cross his mind had been ‘ _ Fucking hell why do they make androids this pretty? _ ’

He was perfectly sober when he witnessed Connor getting frustrated with the case. Almost  _ angry _ . “ _ We’re not making any progress and it’s my fault. I wasn’t fast enough. Again, I left those deviants go. I’m- I’m not good enough _ .” he had clenched his fist and Hank had fully expected him to slam it against his office desk. But he didn’t. He had calmly placed his hand on the desk, his jaw clenched hard and his lips pursued in a frown. Hank said nothing, just kept observing him, the way he had started to bite his bottom lip then stopped himself immediately after, as if startled by catching himself indulging in such a pointless gesture. There was something about seeing Connor reacting in such a human manner to the failure of his mission that touched Hank in a way he wouldn’t have expected. He had started to bite his own lip too, he silently realised. “ _ It’s ok kid, everyone makes mistakes, there is always going to be a case that will give you hell, no need to get this upset over it. _ ” Connor’s eyes, ever so earnest, were full of gratitude for such a small comfort. Looking into them made Hank’s mind slip, wondering what Connor reaction would have been if he had told him how good he was. He had thought about kissing his frown away from his lips. He shut himself down, stopped himself from indulging in any hopeless fantasy.

The last time he thought about kissing Connor has left him with a bitter taste in his mouth, it’s something he doesn’t like to remember. “ _ I was connected to his memory. When it fired, I felt it die. Like  _ I _ was dying _ .” Connor’s LED was steadily red, no flicking back to yellow. Hank had never witnessed his LED stay on panic mode for so long and everything else about Connor - his voice, his stance, the wild, human fear in his eyes - confirmed how shaken he was. “ _ I was scared… _ ” In that precise moment Hank had felt the physical need to step in, close the distance between them and pull Connor close. Kiss him. Hold him, tell him that it was going to be ok, that he’s alive and it is ok to be scared, that Hank wouldn’t let anything happen to him. But it would have been so wrong. Connor is not human. He doesn’t need Hank’s protection. He most definitely doesn’t need Hank’s affection. When they returned to the base Hank had put a hand on Connor’s shoulder and to this day he still regrets not doing more.

Sumo huffs in his sleep and it startles Hank. He must have gotten lost in his own thoughts. He quickly notices that he has been staring at Connor’s mouth this whole time. His lips are just barely parted and Hank wishes to know how would they feel against his. Soft? Chapped? Dry? He’s seen Connor licking his lips to wet them before, like humans do.

In one single movement he puts his hand on Connor’s shoulder, expecting him to wake up. He gets no response. Connor’s LED as blue as the light scarcely illuminating the room. Hank uses the hand he has on the android’s shoulder as leverage to pull himself up, bending forward so he’s face to face with him. It all happens in a matter of seconds but everything is incredibly slow and vivid in Hank’s mind. His lips are a breath away from Connor’s. He bends his head to the side, parts his lips just slightly. The tip of Connor’s nose brushes Hank’s skin and he knows it’s too late to ask himself what the fuck he’s doing before their lips meet and, God, Connor’s lips are soft and smooth. Connor flinches.

Terrified, Hank pulls back. Connor blinks a few times, his LED flashing yellow. He follows Hank’s movement with his eyes, until their eyes meet and Hank is overwhelmed by an unmistakable sense of panic. 

“Lieutenant?” his LED is still flicking on and off to yellow, confused. 

Hank gets up from the couch so fast he feels his stomach do a whole backflip and he needs a moment to ground his feet properly on the floor to avoid falling on his ass like a fucking loser. 

“It’s late. I’m off to bed. No I don’t need any help thank you very much.” he adds before Connor can say anything more. Before he can ask a question Hank is fully unprepared to answer. ‘ _ What was I doing?’ _

As he lies in his bed, face towards the ceiling because any other position would make the nausea unbearable, he thinks of Connor’s eyes staring into his, head tilted to the side, confusion clear on his features. Did he realize what Hank was doing? ‘ _ What the fuck was I doing anyway? _ ’ he asks himself once more. He closes his eyes and grimaces. He’s too tired and too drunk to deal with this right now, he hopes sleep will help him clear his mind.

When he wakes up, there’s smell of coffee coming from the kitchen. He walks out of his bedroom wearing the sleeped in clothes he was wearing last day, he must look like a mess. 

“Good morning Lieutenant.” Connor’s voice is slightly too cheerful, like usual. He places a mug of coffee on the counter and Hank wastes no time grabbing it.

Hastily, he throws a look to Connor as he sips his coffee. He doesn’t notice anything weird in the android’s stance. When their eyes meet his LED remains steadily blue. If Connor doesn’t mention last night, Hank has no reason to bring it up again.  


* * *

 

Hank presses the cold glass of the beer bottle against his brow, hissing softly at the sensation. His knuckles still hurt from when he punched Perkins’ ugly face, he really didn’t hold back on that one. He’s got suspended, unsurprisingly. He did it for the case. To help Connor. “ _ If I don’t solve this case, CyberLife will destroy me. Five minutes. It’s all I ask. _ ” It took him less than a second to decide he was going to help him. He had never quite stopped thinking about how afraid to die Connor had been on the roof of the broadcast centre and, if he had to be honest with himself, he wasn’t quite ready to accept the idea of losing Connor either. He really went this far, didn’t he? His job was the only thing keeping him sane and now he’s risking getting fired for good. He’s off the case, he returned his badge and service pistol and the future of his career is now effectively in Fowler’s hands now.

The tv is set on the news channel, the only way he can keep informed about what will happen to the deviants led by Markus now that he’s off the case and won’t get to read any official report. Connor said he could solve the case and Hank hasn’t doubted him for a single moment. He stands by the counter in the kitchen, beer bottle in hand but somehow too tense to take a single gulp of it. The FBI attacked the deviants base. It ended in a disaster. Hank clenches his teeth.

When he came home he found Connor’s clothes in his bedroom, all neatly folded and left on a corner of his bed. Hank had impatiently looked for a note from Connor, anything to know his intentions, but he found nothing. He must have come here to find a disguise before heading to Jericho. Hank is terribly worried, so much that anxiety almost paralyses him as the president herself answers questions on the tv. They started neutralising androids everywhere in the states and he’s sure there had to be victims in Jericho too. The more he listens to the news the more he feels himself surrounded by a deaf noise, his body dissociating from reality, preventing him from even just think about Connor never coming back from Jericho.

He flinches when he hears a knock at the door. He might as well have imagined it actually, his current worried state making him hyper aware of every sound in the house. He leaves the bottle on the counter and takes one, two, three deep breaths. Anxiety is still loud in his ears as he takes one tentative step toward the front door of his house, too afraid to hope. The second step comes much quicker though and soon he’s half running to the door. He opens it completely in one swing and his eyes go wide.

Connor is standing under the rain in front of his house, his posture straight and composed as ever. He looks different though. It’s not only because of his clothes (is that Hank’s old jacket?), there’s something about him that feels off. Hank is caught so off guard that he just stands still as well, mirroring Connor a few steps away from him, just watching the rain run down his face, incessant and copious. His hair is a mess, wet and sticking to his brow and temples. It’s the first time Hank sees him with his hair quite this disarray. It’s an odd look on him, almost funny, and Hank would probably smile at it if it was any other circumstance than this. 

Connor just stares at him but he looks lost, out of focus and so different than how he looks like when he’s analysing something. A huge drop of water falls from his brow and lands on his cheekbone, travelling down the sharp line of his cheek before getting caught on the corner of his lips. Hank’s hands itch and he clenches them into fists.

“Hank, I-” he stutters and trails off, gaze dropping to his feet. It’s the first time Connor calls him with his name. Hank has never really asked or allowed him to. 

He looks up again, staring at Hank, this time really watching him as he’s about to speak. He doesn’t get the chance to though, Hank closes the distance between them, grabbing him by his jacket and bodily dragging him under the porch, away from the rain. He doesn't give Connor time to react or to say anything before he’s hugging him, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and feeling relieved, oh so relieved, by the feeling of Connor’s head gently resting against his clavicle. He’s waited too long to do this but it feels so damn good to finally be able to hold him, so much that maybe his embrace would be a little too tight to be comfortable for another human. 

Almost shyly, Connor brings up his arms - as much as Hank’s hug lets him - and Hank feels him grabbing the front of his sweater, pulling Hank just a tiny bit closer, as if he is uncertain if he can ask for more. It makes Hank’s heart jump and he puts a hand on the back oh his neck, trying to get even closer to him. His hair and clothes are drenched and Hank can feel his own clothes getting wet as well but he couldn’t care less.

“I’m a deviant now.” he says against Hank’s shoulder. He sounds frightened, but conscious in a way he has never sounded before.

“Let’s get you inside.” He doesn’t ask what he means by that, deep down he’s known Connor was a deviant since he spared Chloe’s life at Kamski’s place and maybe even sooner than that. Hank is still shocked, not fully understanding what’s happening and there are about one hundred questions that swirl in his mind at the moment but the relief in his chest is so warm and comforting that everything else holds little weight now.

He walks inside and Connor follows him, Sumo woke up and is watching them from the end of the hallway, curious. Hank turns toward Connor, ready to start to ask him the most pressing questions but this time it’s Connor to not give him time to talk.

His hands close around the collar of Hank’s worn out sweater and pull him down. It takes Hank definitely more than a couple of moments to realise that Connor’s lips are pressed against his own. When he does realise what’s happening though, his body responds on its own accord, before he can start to mentally freak out, he grabs Connor’s hands, pulling them away from his collar and placing them down. He feels Connor’s lips flutter against his and he kisses him back without hesitating. He cups one of his cheek, droplets of rain still matted across his face, and the feeling of Connor’s smooth skin under his palm makes any doubt left in him vanish instantly. 

Encouraged by the softness of Hank’s touch, Connor puts his hands around Hank’s waist, pushing him against the wall and kissing him harder. It’s messy, uncoordinated, but underlined by a desperation that makes Hank’s chest ache and he kisses Connor back, trying to match him, bringing both hands to his face, possessive, and he’s not even sure if he’s trying to make Connor slow down or demanding for more. Connor’s tongue runs against his bottom lip, brushes against his teeth and Hank groans into the kiss. Nothing in his mind seems to make sense right now.

When Connor pulls back, his eyes don’t leave Hank’s and he knows he should be embarrassed, he can feel his cheeks burning and Connor is most definitely aware of the precise rate of his heartbeat, while in Hank’s ears it’s just a loud uncontrolled drumming that shouldn’t be quite this wild for an inexperienced kiss, but he doesn’t look away from Connor’s eyes either. 

“You kissed me last night.” 

Of all the things Hank had expected him to say this was the one he couldn't predict. 

“I did.” he supposes there is no point in lying anymore. Not to Connor, not to himself. 

The corner of Connor’s mouth lifts up and, for Christ’s sake, he has no right to look this smug and  _ happy _ at the same time.

“I’m glad you did. I- I wanted you to kiss me but I didn’t know how to ask. I didn’t know if I could ask.”

Hank’s throats feels dry. For how long? He’s dying to know but he doesn’t dare to ask, he knows now it’s not the right time.

Connor is still in Hank’s personal space and he brings a hand up to his face, tracing his lips with his fingers, and Hank fully expects Connor to kiss him again. Something breaks in him, his expressionbreaking and worry and concern resurface inside Hank’s chest.

“I need my uniform.” his eyes fall to Hank’s lips just for a moment, before he looks up in his eyes again “I have to go.”

Before Hank can respond to that, Connor has already turned, walking inside Hank’s room.

“Where?”

“CybeLife assembly plant. We need more of us to protest peacefully, they’d never listen to us otherwise.” he leaves the door open as he starts to undress and Hank, out of politeness more than anything else, raises his eyes to the ceiling, giving Connor privacy he never asked for.

“That’s bullshit Connor. You can’t do that, haven’t you seen what they’re doing to androids now? CyberLife is gonna kill you.” that last sentence comes out choked out.

Connor exits the bedroom, tying his tie as he speaks “It’s a risk I have to take, Lieutenant. I must do this for my people, it’s my fault if Jericho has been destroyed. CyberLife trusts me, they’ll let me in”

He sounds determined, unmovable, like to a man who wants to fight for his rights rather than a machine programmed to accomplish a mission. Selfishly, he doesn’t want to let him go. He lowers his gaze, his mouth pressed into a thin line. They both know what’s the most likely outcome of this final mission, Hank doesn’t need a computer brain to calculate the odds. Connor seems to sense Hank’s dread and he walks into his personal space once again. 

He raises himself on his tiptoes and leaves a chaste kiss on Hank’s lips. “Statistically speaking, there’s always a chance for unlikely events to take place.” he says attempting a smile. He’s afraid but sincere.

Hank finds himself smiling too, running a hand through Connor’s hair to fix it back in place.

“I’ll be back.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Let me know if you liked it, any kind of feedback is very appreciated (also I'm low-key thinking about writing a sequel/more content for this fandom if anyone would be interested in that :0c )
> 
> You can find me on twitter [@ratty_lally](https://twitter.com/ratty_lally) and on tumblr [@junkxrat](http://junkxrat.tumblr.com/), I'd love to meet new friends in this fandom ;U;


End file.
